


When The Judge Came Knocking

by JaymieSpryte



Series: The Stretching Web of Tales [2]
Category: Original Work, The Stretching Web of Tales
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-24 00:07:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16169546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaymieSpryte/pseuds/JaymieSpryte
Summary: You're driving down the street, almost home. It's dark and slightly drizzling. You see someone on the side of the road, soaked to the bone and grinning.You pull over, and ask if they're alright.





	1. The Judge

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to make this as un-confusing as possible, but please let me know if you're confused on anything!

You're driving down the street. It's night-time and slightly drizzling. You see someone on the side of the road, soaking wet. 

You slow down, and your lights shine on the person. Or… not a person. Their proportions are a bit too stretched out to be a human; their legs are too long, their fingers too slim, and there's something wrong with their feet.

Of course the six inch ears, lizard tail, ram horns, lightly purple skin, seven foot height and fangs also lend some credibility to that assumption.

Instead of choosing the more sensible option of running the hell away and telling your wife, you pull over and get out. You stand opposite the car from the creature. They're grinning. Their hair is there, but the color is difficult to discern. They wear a dress that's nearly down to the ground. It's just between yellow and white, sort of parchment colored. They speak.

"Hullo, Gytha. It's been an amount of time since we last saw each other, no?"

Gytha. Your name. You rather like it, you chose it yourself after all. The meaning isn't the best, but you have your middle-school self to blame for that.

This being should not know your name.

"I don't remember meeting you before," you say. Then, remembering your Manners, you add, "what may I call you?"

"You wouldn't recall this form, no," they say simpering. "Though it pleases me that you still recall the proper etiquette. You may call me Terrestri."

Your mouth goes dry. You recognize the name. It isn't pleasant.

"I ask that you deliver a message for me," Terrestri says, calmer than still water.

Of course they would be. They aren't the water in that scenario. They are the eerie lack of disturbance. 

You nod. You don't want to speak with them more than possible.

"The message I'd like you to deliver is this: the Judge has arrived." A pause, during which they tilt their head. "That will be all."

Then they are gone, leaving a vague teal afterimage. You have to snort at that. Really, they should know better.

It's then you realize they didn't specify to whom the message should be given. That's a bit of instruction itself, of course. You'll tell everyone.

You pause. Your hoodie slips over your hands, and you push it up to above your elbows.

Then you adjust it so it rests just below your wrists.

Then you take the hoodie off altogether, and tie it around your waist.

You pull a fuschia camo bandana out of your back pocket and tie your hair up with it. Your sunglasses get in the way, though, so you tuck those into your shirt pocket. 

You slide back into the car

You didn't turn it off before you got out. It's still running. Your seat's still warm.

You untie your jacket and plop it on the passenger seat. You're not looking forward to more visitors.

Then you drive, slowly. Your house is only a few blocks away.

Your wife--Ella--has probably already realized that you're late. Shit.

You see your house. It's fairly large, but your two sisters, the older one's girlfriend, and your nephew also live there. Ella likes having familiar people around; they're something to focus on when she gets overwhelmed.

The front door opens, and the woman herself steps out. Most people would be wearing nightclothes at this hour, but not Ella. She told you once that most pajamas felt disgusting on her skin, sort of like a swarm of tiny bugs crawling on her skin. She sleeps in the next day's clothes.

"Gytha, is that you?" She calls. 

You roll down your window.

"Yeah, babe, it's me."

You unbuckle yourself, and grab your keys. Then you wriggle back into the hoodie. It dislodges your bandana, and you push it back into place.

Finally, you open the door and stand to your full height.

It's not impressive. You're exactly five feet tall. You've made peace with that. You promised yourself a long time ago that you wouldn't criticize your body. Being trans, that promise was one of the ways you kept yourself sane before you went on hormones.

You slump down to four-eleven and slam the door of your car behind you. 

The window's still open. It's raining. The driver's seat will get wet. You have more important things to worry about.

You walk to Ella. No point running. 

When you reach her, your hook her arms around her waist and pull her close. Well, more like pull yourself into her. Everyone is taller than you. You kiss her on the cheek, then pull her inside. The screen door slams behind you. You stand there.

Your wife seems mildly surprised by this. You are surprised by her surprise. She sometimes seems to be able to read minds.

Well, if the definitions of "sometimes" and "seems to be able" had suddenly been changed to "always" and "could definitely". But that was exactly why her shock was in itself shocking.

"Ella," you say, "Els, the Judge has returned. They came to me themself."

Ella doesn't gasp. Her reaction is barely palpable. You notice it, though. She doesn't like the news.

"Oh," she says. "Are you going to tell Amber?"

Amber, one of your sisters. You're closer with her.

"Yes, her and Mariana," you reply.

Mariana is her girlfriend.

"And Iris?"

"Yeah."

Iris is Amber's twin, sort of. 

You move past Ella, and you hear her close the front door. You look for your housemates.


	2. Chapter 2

You find Neve first. He's your nephew. Amber and Mariana adopted him seven years ago. He doesn't know who or even  _ what _ the Judge is, and you (and his mothers) want to keep it that way.

He still shouldn't be up, though.

"Hey, Neve," you say, crouching down.

"Hullo, Guy-tah," he says, not looking at you.

"You should be asleep," you say with a half-smile.

"No!" He says, jerking his head up. "Don't  _ wanna _ !"

"Well, how about this," you say, grinning. "If you tell me where your Momma and Nanna are, I won't tell them that you're still up."

His little face screws up, thinking. Finally, he says, "okay. Nanna's in the basement with I-ris, and Momma's in her bedroom."

You grin wider and ruffle his hair.

"Thanks, Neve."

You stand and go to the basement.


End file.
